


And Look Them in the Eyes

by thelairoevie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Avatar of the Eye Basira, Avatar of the Hunt Daisy, Basira meets the Mechs, Canon-Typical The Eye Content (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical The Hunt Content (The Magnus Archives), F/F, Gen, Space London AU, The Mechanisms (Band) References, The Mechanisms-Typical Violence, space cops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelairoevie/pseuds/thelairoevie
Summary: Basira Eye/Hunt avatar fic for TMA Valentine’s Exchange.Basira is the last servant of the Watcher in Space London. After the takedown of Elias, most exciting part of her life is already over- until her doppelganger, Ashes O'Reilly, drops into town. With a meeting with Jonny d'Ville and her own police force hunting her down, she learns where power and loyalty lies.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner (mentioned), Basira Hussain & Melanie King, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist (mentioned), Melanie King & Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10
Collections: TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021





	And Look Them in the Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeanMeanSaltineMachine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeanMeanSaltineMachine/gifts).



> This is for Rhys (LeanMeanSaltineMachine), so if you like it, maybe go check out zir work!

The expanse of space is big enough that anything could happen twice. Maybe even a few times, if you throw in all of time to the mix. The person who said, "There's no such thing as coincidences" has probably never understood the sheer scope of happenstance in the universe. They probably were, however, a detective. A detective who knows, who needs to know many things-- but really, has no idea what is going on. 

This is a story about Basira Hussain. 

The year is a long, long time from today. She lives in London, but no, not the one you are thinking of. This is Space London. A massive, crumbling, too old, too crowded ship that serves as an island-- not of the seven seas, but of all of space. A rusty monument to a once-United Kingdom-- having had Irish break off, then the Scottish, then the Welsh, and then pretty much everyone else, until there was just London left, a big city in an even bigger expanse. It's not half bad, once you get used to it. 

Basira isn't your average detective- far from it. Sure, she's got the gun and the girl, the razor-cut mind and eyeliner. But she's more than that. She serves a force of the universe as powerful as heat and as constant as gravity. The Watcher, it’s called sometimes. That which watches and knows all things, and all things fear it. That which once, in the year 2019, tried to take over humanity, and failed. Basira wouldn't know anything about that, though. She just knows that she needs to investigate, to put herself at the root of everyone’s business and to look, to never stop looking, until she and her patron understand it all. 

Today is no different than any other- Basira exits the underground with her partner at her side and her gun on her hip. The Eye sharpens her senses to those around her- she knows that the man waiting at the corner has a secret, notices the way a girl in the coffee shop shifts to hide a knife. She also notices how the same guy who’s been eying Daisy with a hunger that would be disturbing were it not a misplaced irony, sneers at her getup. She doesn't pay him much mind. Her line of work puts her in line to deal with mostly adversarial people who don’t want to be involved in whatever is going on. An arsehole or two isn’t going to slow her down. She just hopes he doesn't try and find out what it’s actually like to be at Daisy’s mercy- they’d made so much progress in regards to her control.

The advantage to covering your hair is, of course, that you're harder to recognize. Gone are the days of the good old trench coat, although Basira’s sure she might still find one lurking in the back of her closet. Instead, she wears a dark headscarf, and a pair of practical slacks. It suits her much better, at least she prefers to think it does. It’s what she wears today, on what ought to be a completely normal morning.

The train is crowded with people who don’t really look. Unlike her own, their eyes turn down to electronics or to their shoes and the floor, where they are safe in their not-knowing. It’s common courtesy in most cities to not leer at your fellow commuters, and Basira is especially nondescript. The same handful of people that live in her area also ride this train, and almost none of them would know her out of a crowd. 

It’s that quality and sheer luck that means Daisy is the first person on the train to recognize the wanted poster. It’s flashed across the flickering hologram between soap ads and government announcements about community safety. 

The face staring back at her is almost uncanny - it’s as if she was looking into a mirror, albeit one that had been drawn on. They could have been twins- or one’s half-done disguise of the other- this face had Basira’s eyes, smokey instead of crisply outlined, Basira’s lips, now pierced and painted black. Basira’s jaw, too, though lacking a distinct scar gifted to her after someone had taken the liberty of attempting to slice open her neck. 

The biggest difference was in the hair, as Basira’s was flat and black, hidden under a tightly secured cap and then tucked under whatever cover best suited the job- a loose and elegant scarf or stretchy sports cover of some sort. This person had their hair down and curly, the ends curling up in flaming red. That difference alone was likely the only reason the mistake hadn’t been made before.

It would have been a wild coincidence, of course, but for the fact that "There's no such thing as coincidences'' in Basira’s world. _Ashes O'Reilly,_ the poster reads, _They/them, wanted for Theft, Arson and Third Degree Murder._ It lists under that the last known location, associates. _Arrived on the Starship Aurora._

There’s a code for mercenaries and police that represents the importance and value of a target’s capture. Basira grabs Daisy’s wrist in shock- there’s a completely open bounty listed, meaning anyone can make an arrest under practically any means, and on top of that the reward is hefty to say the least. Certainly more intergalactic credits than Basira herself can get ahold of. 

“I know,” Daisy replies to the unstated reaction, scanning the street for anything else out of place. No one seems to be paying the bounty any attention. “Lets just get into work and see if it’s some some stupid joke or something.” 

“Right. Can’t stay out here.” Feeling the weight of her gun a little heavier under her modest coat, Basira marches on. Surely if there is a threat, she can see it coming. Hey eyes glow a little greener than their usual dark brown as she checks, just to make sure. There is no threat here, not yet. 

They make it into the precinct without much trouble, but as soon as the door opens Basira can feel something wrong. She knows a thing or two about watching. 

She is being watched. 

She can feel the eyes of the people in the office, the way they analyze her face and narrow, readying for... something. She’s not yet sure what. She keeps her deadpan expression as she steps up to her desk to grab a file. It’s best not to sit down, with the tension hanging in the air like it is. 

“Uh, Good morning?” she tries. 

The sound of a gun being drawn is all the warning she gets to duck. In an instant she is under her desk, Daisy at her side, and a bullet is flying over their heads. She is helpfully supplied with the knowledge that it was Lenny that took that first shot. She would deal with him in a moment. Her first priority is getting Daisy down from the instinct she knows is about to kick in. She shuffles to the drawer of her desk and pulls out an old fashioned Earth music player. It’s some kind of knockoff of the Walkman and has a very specific tape inside. An old friend left it, and several like it, in exchange for a pretty big favor. She presses it into her partner’s hands. Right now, releasing the hounds is the last thing Basira needs to do. Daisy needs to firmly remain on the quiet and not blood-rushing side of things. 

She shushes and soothes her partner until the headphones are on and the tape is playing. Daisy is tense now, but she has stopped shaking with the urge to rush after their assailant. Good. Now to get them out of there.

Basira closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Most of her coworkers don’t know her very well, not if they think that she’s been committing crimes under the name Ashes and is now prime bounty for the first person to take her in. They also don’t know the kind of tricks up her sleeve.

For the first and hopefully last time, Basira sends a mental thank you to her old boss, who she’d happily landed in jail. Elias had shown her this little trick. Until now, it had never had the chance to come up, not with the price it usually exacts on her mind and body later. 

Under the desk, Basira begins to emanate a glow, her eyes shifting from brown to green once more.

“Hey, Leonard!” she shouts, letting her voice pitch up so it can carry. “Whatever reason you think there is for this ambush- you’re wrong. Put the gun down and we’ll talk.” Her voice buzzes with a growing power, not likely strong enough to give orders with, but growing stronger. Good. 

“Now, now, _Ashes_ ,” Lenny calls back from where he had shot from-- she can tell where he is now. “You’re worth a lot of money if you come out and let me cuff you.” 

“That,” Basira spits back at him, “Is not my name.” It seems that there’s no getting through to them as people. So much for the honorable officers of the law. 

The power that has been slowly seeping into her words finally reaches a pinnacle, and she makes her move, stepping out from the desk to lock eyes with Lenny, by the water cooler. About ten other people who she works with every day have their weapons drawn, having smelled blood in the water, and they’re all pointed at her. Good, an audience. Her patron likes having people watch. 

“Remember the worst case of your life,” she asks, although it’s much more order than question. “The one that keeps you up at night. It haunts your dreams.” 

Lenny has no choice but to comply with that, as Basira brings forth the one thing he tries to bury down good and deep. She’s struck gold for the Ceaseless Watcher, and it Knows. She’s rewarded with a rush of sensation and energy as she takes hold of the memory, and yanks it open, like a book she’s determined to read. His face crumples and he lowers his weapon, lost in his own experience. 

“Share with the class, _Leonard_ ,” she tells him, and as he opens his mouth and begins to speak, she grabs Daisy’s arm. They need to get out before anyone else in the room can adjust to what is about to happen. 

Lenny lets out a broken sound, like a half sob. “My god- she, she was only a kid!” And the others in the room drop their focus from Basira to look at him. His statement begins with that, and it leaves them transfixed. They won’t be able to stop envisioning how it was, how it felt, until he’s done talking. Thanks, Bouchard. Only good thing he ever did was show her how to do that. The green tint doesn't leave her eyes. It probably won’t for a while. Immediately the hunger that she keeps at bay with careful rational action springs to life within her. She needs to tear into someone’s secrets, hear out their story. She won’t be able to avoid it soon.

Basira and Daisy make their way out of the building, walking with her head ducked and her scarf over more of her face than usual until they reach Daisy’s nearest safehouse. It’s a divebar in Clapham, that’s run by one of their old friends. Melanie’s been through some tough times with them before. She’ll definitely let them stay until Basira comes up with a plan.

They make it to the Underground before Basira finally hears the disant sirens, and disappear into the veins pumping through the whole of Space London.

* * *

Melanie doesn't even blink as they arrive, Basira thoroughly exhausted and starving to feed her patron- Daisy still transfixed by the tape playing in her ears. Melanie excuses herself from behind the bar, and walks back with them. Her mechanical eyes scan the room for any intruders, and satisfied with the security of the room, Melanie shoves aside a massive speaker to reveal a staircase leading down. 

“You can hide out down here for as long as you need. Guns are where you left them.” 

Basira nods, offering a look of quiet, sincere gratitude. “Thanks.” 

Melanie waits for Basira to lead Daisy down into the bar’s basement, and then closes the entrance behind them. The ceiling lights glow red and purple overhead.

“Mind telling me what’s after you? I like knowing who to look out for,” Melanie asks, pulling absentmindedly on the fray of her denim jacket. 

“Look out for the police, especially if they’re from my precinct,” Basira replies, focusing more on getting Daisy to sit on the couch and remove her headphones. They’re safe here, and she needs her partner back. 

Melanie lets out a low whistle. “And here I thought you were always a ‘just within the law’ type, being cops now and all. What happened?” 

“There’s a bounty out for someone who looks like me. Guess my coworkers took it too seriously.” 

“Wait.” Something in Melanie’s tone prompts Basira to whirl around and look at the pale glow of her eyes. “I know who you’re talking about.”

“Seen the wanted posters, then?” Daisy asks, now present enough to join the conversation. She’s already leaning over the couch to grab at a stashed package of synthetic jerky. Must be feeling okay, all things considered.

“No...” Melanie says, hesitant now. “They performed here, last week.” 

“What?” Basira asks, and forgets for a moment to control the power in her voice, pressing a hand to her mouth now that it’s too late. Melanie starts her story against her will.

“They came by last Friday, to take our opener slot. Called themselves the Mechanisms, came in from out of town. They played some decent steampunk stuff that was popular enough with the crowd to keep them buying drinks, so I was happy. Had some kind of cheesy pirate motif to them? Wicked prosthetics, though. I even asked one of them where he’d gotten his eyes done, because they were way cooler than any I’d been offered. He said his doc had died, which was a bit of a disappointment. One of them, the bassist, was the literal spitting image of you. I mean, I actually went up to them and called them your name before realizing my mistake. That was only a little mortifying. I mean, I had to ask Helen later if she’d been slipping me her homemade absinthe again, it was that uncanny. They told me they’d never heard of a woman named Basira, and that they weren’t a woman at all. I bought them a drink on the house for that, you know, to be polite. They drink a lot of whiskey.” She comes back to herself with the shake of her head and a sigh. 

As soon as the episode ends Basira lets out a puff of air she didn’t realize she was holding in. “Sorry, guess it’s hungry. I’ll stop asking questions.” 

Melanie made a face. “I thought that we were done with that stuff when Jon left.”

Basira’s apology has half left her lips as Melanie continues. “It’s fine, you’re not a dick about it like some were. So... are you just going to town?”

Basira has to take a moment to think. She meets eyes with Daisy and finds the answer she needs. “No. We’re in too deep. You just proved to me that this isn’t some elaborate takedown to target me, so-”

“We’re going to hunt down the person actually responsible,” Daisy finishes for her, and to Basira’s trained eye, Daisy looks a little too excited when she’s saying it. To Melanie, it’s at the usual low rumble Daisy always uses. “Going to track them and chase them through the city and drag them by their scalps to the precinct.” 

Basira corrects her gently. “We’re going to track them and acquire _evidence,_ and _build a case,_ and we can make the rest the business of the police. And then, we’ll probably be fired, but not shot.”

Daisy coughs. “Yeah.” 

The silence beyond that is awkward, too. Basira waits, firm in her need to appear solid, even under Melanie’s potential judgement of their control. Daisy is not slipping into the Hunt, not for this. Daisy understands, now, her resolve is solid. And Basira has always been the most resistant to the powers at play. She’s in control. Melanie doesn't know this, but Basira Knows, idly scanning the room, the bar above them. The buzz of compelling someone always leaves her alert and overly aware. Melanie should know them both better, really, but she can’t blame her for wanting to avoid the mistakes the others made.

“We’ve got it under control, trust me.” Basira knows Melanie can do that. “We just needed a place to regroup.” 

She nods, and replies. “Yeah. I’d appreciate it if Daisy is the one who asks the questions, if you don’t mind.” 

Basira doesn’t mind in the slightest. The Eye was fed, and the buzz beneath her skin had now faded to it’s usual volume, taking her previous fatigue with it. She listens and takes notes as Daisy procedurally examines everything Melanie knew about the suspect and their associates. Melanie had to return to her position at the bar, so Basira uses her computer to conduct some research while Daisy goes around to ask other staff. By the time Basira is satisfied with the questioning and investigating, it’s surprisingly late.

“Have you two eaten anything solid recently?” Melanie asks, balancing plates of cheap bar chips and other pub food.

They hadn’t. Food means less and less to Basira these days, and Daisy... when she’s hungry she just _takes._ Still, Melanie’s hospitality was not to be taken lightly. She might be their most stable friend nowadays. 

“You should sleep here, too,” Melanie offers, as Basira politely nibbles some chips. “It’s safe, I promise. My name still carries some weight in these streets.” 

In the good-bad old days, when Jon was still in charge of them all, and Basira hadn’t yet made her deal with the powers that be, Melanie was a force to be reckoned with. As the ‘Menace of Magnus’, she found herself carefully groomed from a feisty, competitive journalist into Elias’s most violent resource, and people still fear the retribution that came with her knife, or even her name. When things really went to shit, Melanie was taken out with the loss of her eyes, spent the rest of her time distancing from Elias, adjusting to the bionic replacement, and touring with a band called Grifter’s Bone.

Baira finds herself stretched out on the too-colourful sheets on the basement mattress, thinking about the past. Things are different now. Melanie owns a bar, see a therapist. She doesn't serve any power other than herself. It’s almost hard to imagine. 

She’s drawn out of the thought as Melanie turns the lights out, and bids them goodnight. Daisy’s muscled form sinks into the mattress next to her, radiating strength and heat. It’s grounding, as Daisy always is, and Basira resists the urge to become soft, wrap herself around that safe form. Instead, they stare at the ceiling and listen to the background thrum of the bar’s live music above them, and remember what it was to properly sleep.

* * *

Basira’s dreams are always strange. 

Before she’d made her choice, Basira dreamed of fire. Maybe it was trauma- watching someone burn to death at a young age isn’t easy. Maybe, by that point, the patron that was now hers, had already turned its gaze to Jon, and it was feeding on her, for him. 

When she’d made her choice originally, standing on the outside of the bars to Elias’s cell, he’d told her that her dreams would change. And they did. Even when he died, when she took his place as the tool of the Watcher, he was right. 

Now she dreams of things she shouldn’t know. She sees people, all the time, all around her, doing horrible things. Sometimes it’s something that’s already happened. War crimes, from the battle of Station Vienna. A programming ghost in an old line of the tube. 

Sometimes it’s things that haven’t happened yet. A bare neck, about to be pierced by vampire fangs. She dreams today of a gun that’s going to be fired, one that she’s never seen before, pointed to the back of someone’s curly red-dyed head. She dreams of a man she’s never met. 

Behind her closed eyelids, she imagines the Watcher laughs. 

* * *

The next morning, Melanie wakes them early, with an accomplished look on her face. She has a harmonica wrapped in delicate plastic in her hand, and she displays it with amusement. “Daisy can still do the scent dog thing, right?”

“Tracks scents through the Hunt, you mean?” Daisy asks, her voice even lower than usual, close enough to make Basira shiver. “Yeah, I still do that. I can track by footstep, too.”

“Great! This is from the band that your criminal was in,” Melanie offers. “Do ya think you can use it?”

Basira side-eyes it and then looks to Daisy. She’d been working for most of this case to avoid Daisy unleashing the power of the hunt within her. Once the chase starts, it isn’t likely to stop. Daisy considers only for a moment, and then reaches for an unloaded gun on the wall. 

“Give it to Basira. When we’re all packed up, I’ll use it.” 

It’s a risk, it always is. But it’s also what needs to happen. Daisy is amazing like this. Gearing up and armed to the teeth, she tenses like a bowstring, and every minute movement she makes takes strength and intent. The anticipation makes her glow. Basira has to work to keep her focus, which is saying something. 

“Ready?” Basira asks, finally, and it feels like cocking a gun. Taking aim.

“Yeah,” Daisy breathes, tensed like she’s ready to run. Basira presses a light kiss to her cheek, and then steps back.

The harmonica comes out, a harmless, almost laughable instrument that is about to be the center of a violent storm. Daisy takes it into her hand and doesn't sniff it so much as take in a deep, slow breath of air in. Something in her posture changes, and Basira can almost see the beast in her by the way she steps forward. 

There’s something like surprise on Daisy’s face, but it’s replaced with something darker. Even if she hadn’t sold her soul to the devil of knowing, Basira would know that look anywhere. They’ve certainly faced enough forces of evil to tell. 

Whoever Daisy is currently tracking isn’t human.

* * *

The trail Daisy leads her on is littered with carnage. Space London was dangerous, sure, but this is a pattern. Following Daisy across the city Basira has stepped over piles of bodies, past what was more bullet hole than building, and piles of rubble and ash. Somewhere along the line, an octokitten crosses their path, but not for long. One pointed growl from Daisy is plenty to chase away most animals- most humans, even. 

The blood and monster tracking- it isn’t good for Daisy. Basira doesn't have to use the Watcher to know that. She can see plainly enough in the way Daisy’s path is faster and more violent as they go along- crowds usually part for Daisy, but now some who are weaker of heart are running, and Daisy herself is running, with her teeth bared and her steps silent. Basira is a little out of breath in keeping up. The sound of the blood in Daisy, rushing her into violence, into the Hunt- it’s usually not this fast. At this rate, it will take forever to bring her back down. She’ll probably find herself missing Jon. He had a way of talking to Daisy down that Basira could never figure out. It was less like he was an anchor from the outside, something Basira tries hard to be, and more like he was there. Like he understood her. Maybe he did.

When they hear the gunshots, Daisy is practically drooling with the thrill of the chase. Basira tries to Know what’s ahead, pulls her focus in front of her like she’s reading a book and sees:

A body drops to the floor. There is blood on the glassy cubicle walls, so much blood. Something nearby pumps in smoke, a nearby fire. The corpses are all the same, soldier’s bodies in soldier’s blood in soldier’s boots. It hardly matters if they’re wearing uniforms or wearing suits. Among them is a man, and the Watcher does not let her look at him. She sees his shape, the static form around him that fades into a void like migraine blindspots. His gun, still smoking, isn’t hidden with his body. No, that she can see quite clearly. He loads it again, at the ready, takes his aim, and fires. 

She breaks out of the vision and Daisy is gone. She shouts ahead of her, but it may be too late. Daisy’s fought monsters before, and she’s always come out on top, but something in Basira Knows this is different. This man is backed by a power that she can’t see, and it scares her. She shouts again, and takes off at a run. 

“Wait!”

* * *

She bursts through the door in time with the final shot, the deafening bang overtaking the sound of her entry. Daisy is there, already, quietly crouched in a corner that the man has yet to notice. Now that he’s in front of her, Basira can see the figure quite clearly. 

He looks like the sort to be in a band, really. Smudged black lines spread out from his eyes like lightning branches. He has a bloody mess of light brown hair, brushing down to about the middle of his neck. His shirt, as filthy as the rest of him, is held together less by seams and more by belts at this point. His coat, or vest-thing is slung over his arm, presumably to protect it from the damage done to the rest of him. 

Basira inches closer to Daisy, trying to make contact, bring her back. It’s unlikely that they’ll get out of this unscathed if Daisy attacks the guy, but Basira has no magical sneaking abilities. Only her training stands between them and discovery. “Daisy. Daisy, come on. It’s me.” 

It’s too late. Basira watches with horror as Daisy’s eyes narrow, her body draws back into pure violent tension, and her lips curl up in some snarling parody of a smile. In some plane above the one where they stand, the eye reveals the hunt in Daisy, the mirage of fingers that are now claws, and teeth elongated from a clenched jaw to a long, snapping snout. It’s hunger, but more than that. Basira knows the high Daisy must be feeling, so close to the game that feeds the beast within her. It’s not so different from the patron she feeds herself. 

Daisy leaps, and she’s all teeth. In a move of desperation, Basira draws her gun and fires. Beast and bullet fly through the air at once. 

When the dust clears and Basira can process what’s going on, the man is on the floor, Daisy’s teeth buried in his shoulder, having just missed his throat. His gun is on the floor several feet behind him, where Basira shot it out of his hand. 

The man is laughing. It’s a little familiar, in a way that Basira doesn't really have the time to understand. She steps closer, gun drawn carefully on his face, safely away from Daisy on his chest. “Daisy. Daisy! Get off of him.” 

Daisy does not move, only lets out a low animalistic sound halfway between a cry and a roar. The laughing man beneath her doesn't really seem to mind at all. He meets Basira’s eyes with a one-sided feeling of amusement like this is the funniest thing to happen to him all week. This is definitely weird. Weirder than usual, for them. 

“You know, this is the first time,” he chokes out, between manic guffaws, “that anyone’s ever bitten first. Should really have people do it more often.” 

Basira nearly dropped her gun. That voice, that didn’t belong to whoever this strange man was. She knew that voice, she’d heard it hundreds of times over recording after recording, not to mention over urgent phone calls and friendly drinks. The man sounds just like...

Daisy snaps back to herself, yanking back fast enough to splash a vector of blood between herself and the man. The rest she spits out, while still frozen above him in shock. There’s only one voice that draws her out of the hunt like that. “Jon?”

The man, still bleeding profusely from the bite shaped hole in his shoulder, looks at her like maybe they’ve just met on a train somewhere. Like this is normal. “It’s Jonny, actually. Close enough. What’s up, Ashes?”

* * *

Somehow, things have ended up like this. The man who is not Jon - Jonny, he introduced himself as Jonny- is out from under Daisy, and has taken to sipping from a mysterious flask from some unknown pocket, meanwhile Daisy has taken up his gun. It’s a nice, if vintage sort of weapon, and has very clearly seen custom work. 

The tension between them in the air is obvious. 

“So, let me get this straight.” The guy says, leaning back on his blood-soaked arm. “You’re not Ashes O’Riley.” 

Basira stares at him. “My name is Basira Hussain. That Ashes person is the cause of my current problem. And _you,”_ she adds, waving at him dismissively. “Are not Jonathan Sims.” 

“Nope. No idea who that is.” 

“You sound just like him. Maybe if he was drunk and a little less pretentious. But he’s not around here anymore.” 

“Well, _you_ look just like Ashes. Down to the way you’re slightly disappointed in me right now. They’d probably wear something cooler than that, though.” He gestures at Basira’s perfectly serviceable turtleneck and coat. 

Basira refrains from asking what was wrong with her outfit. “Why are you here? Why... all this?” She gestures around at the bodies littering the floor.

The man seems unfazed by it all. “It seemed like a good time. Tim needed to see to something in this stupid little town, and, well it’d been a while since I’d done any violence. Missed the song of gunpowder, I guess. Say, you’re not a cop, are you?”

Basira feels her badge, a hot coal in her pocket. She remembers the look on Lenny’s face from the first shot. “No. No, I’m not.” 

Jonny takes another swig of his flask. “Huh. You kind of smell like one. Anyways, where was I? Right, I’m here to do a bunch of crime, basically. Maybe some gambling. Pass the time and all.” 

From behind him, still holding his gun, Daisy interrupts. “What did you say earlier. About the song.”

“You know, the violence! The urge to just get your hands around someone’s spine and pull until it snaps. Have a snack while you’re at it, too, if necessary. It’s great fun.” Jonny speaks like it’s obvious, like this is something they should understand.

Daisy tilts her head in consideration. “I think I get it,” she finally says. “You’re like me.” 

“Oh, I highly doubt that, sweetheart,” Jonny replied. “You’ve still got your own heart. Or blood.” His eyebrows go up as the word blood prompts Daisy to flinch, the most human reaction she’s given him yet. “Or eyes.”

Basira can’t resist the urge to look into what he means by that, so she pushes past the migraine pain for just a little peek. She gets the briefest glimpse of what happened to him. ‘Wicked prosthetics’ was a surprisingly accurate way of putting it. 

The Watcher opens her mouth and closes her eyes before she really has any say over it. It’s not often she gets caught this much by surprise. 

“No aces, deuces, spades, hearts, diamonds or clubs. No suicide kings, no one-eyed jacks. No royal flush, no dead man’s hand. And definitely no jokers.”

When she opens her eyes, there’s a knife to her throat, and Jonny is behind it. Behind him, Daisy’s drawn his gun, and has it aimed neatly at the back of his head, growling.

“How would you know that if you’re not Ashes?” he hisses in her ear.

Basira really doesn't want to have to tell that whole story. “My name is Basira. And- I know things. In a supernatural sense. Stuff just comes to me.” 

“What, from like the past and future and stuff?” 

“Pretty much.”

“Do it again. What’s my sister’s name?”

Basira wills herself to search again, and it hurts, it still does, but she understands it now. Whatever god or entity was at play in Jonny, it wasn’t entirely opposite to her own.

“Nastya.”

Jonny’s eyes widened, like that wasn’t a response he’d considered. “I was going to say I don’t have any sisters, but... fuck, fair enough.”

Basira watches as he thinks for a moment, and then pulls back, using the knife instead to pick at his teeth. “Right, then. I think you’d better come with me.” He really wasn’t giving them a choice.

* * *

The trip is short, shorter than it was to get to the building from Melanie’s. The whole way, Daisy is trying to form some kind of connection with the weird little man that Basira struggles a little to understand. 

“What do you usually do, when you feel the need to kill somebody?” Daisy asks, and “How long has this been going on?” There’s something strange and hopeful in her voice. 

“It’s only been really bad since the Doc did whatever she did,” Jonny replies easily. “And usually I just find someone to kill.” 

“What, just like that?” 

Another haunting laugh. 

Daisy swore. “You’re a monster.”

“Quite literally, yes. But so are you.”

Basira freezes at that, ready to defend Daisy. She’s doing what has to be done, just like Basira. There’s no sick pleasure to who they are. Daisy gets there first, putting her foot down with enough force to crack plaster. “I don’t _like_ it.” 

“Sure you don’t,” Jonny replies. He looks exactly like you would expect a monster to look like. “Oh. Yeah. We’re here!” He gestures to a horribly beat-up ship, old and patchwork repaired. “Hey, assholes! Let us in.” 

The airlock to the ship opens, and a ladder for boarding extends down. “I should shoot you, Jonny D’Ville,” a voice cries from onboard. 

“But you won't! We have guests!” was the little man’s gleeful response. “You wouldn’t want to make a mess.” And with that, they enter the ship of the enemy.

Jonny’s bandmates dress about the same as he does, but with less dirt and fewer tears. The man who threatened Jonny earlier is on the bridge, along with a woman with strange, mechanical wings, and a wooden mannequin. Basira prides herself on only jumping a little when the mannequin comes to life and asks a question, using a beautiful and all-too-human voice.

“Hello, Ashes, Jonny! Have You Brought Us A New Friend, Old Chap?” it asks Jonny, and he shrugs. 

“Toy Soldier, Raphaella, Tim, meet Daisy and Basira.” He gestures at them. “No, that’s not Ashes, they just look bloody similar. Get everyone down here, TS.” 

“Right Away, Sir!” Toy Soldier replies, and Basira watches as it takes off with inhuman speed. 

“God knows if that’ll actually work,” Tim comments. Something simmering within him sings of slaughter. He looks nothing like the Tim Basira is thinking of, a man she hasn’t heard from in a very long time. They do have one thing in common, though. The manic sort of satisfaction in his eyes, like he was looking to get back at someone, for something he lost, and he succeeded. The Watcher helpfully supplies Basira with the thought that the success did not actually help, but having joined the crew did. Tim’s eyes are just left of human. They shine too much in the light, and flick around the room too quickly. It takes a moment for Basira to realize they’re mechanical. 

The winged woman, Raphaella, is poking at Daisy’s still-bloody teeth. “Fascinating. Were these always so sharp?” she asks innocently. 

Daisy snaps at her instinctually, “No.” To her credit, Raphaella seems entirely unfazed. She plucks one of Daisy’s hairs and takes it over to a panel of weird whirring things.

Eventually all of Jonny’s crew is gathered around them in a strange circle. The person who is not Basira stands across from her, and they both seem to freeze. Logically, Basira understands that they would look just like her, that they have in pictures and descriptions and all else. On the other hand, there’s nothing quite like looking at your own reflection and having it move independently of yourself. What’s worse, the Watcher won’t offer up any useful information, except that Ashes has ties to the Lightless Flame. 

They stare like that, sizing each other up, until Jon’s voice breaks through her thoughts, right by the cusp of her ear. “You alright there, Basira?” She snaps to attention, turning to Jon.

Only it’s not Jon at all, it’s the much paler, much more wicked Jonny D’Ville. Basira puts her hand on her gun, and he steps away, playfully putting his hands up. The message she sends him with her eyes is quite clear. Back off. 

Daisy breaks the tense and confused silence for her. “Who are you?” She’s talking to Ashes, the Basira clone. 

“Ashes O'Reilly. Just some kid from Malone. Ex-Lucky Seven. Who are you?” 

“Basira Hussain. Last remaining servant to the Watcher. Ex-cop.” 

“Your folks ever been to Malone?” 

Basira once again finds herself reaching for that knowledge through her patron. It gives her an answer, happy to oblige. “No.” 

“Wouldn't know if mine are. I was raised as an orphan.”

“I see,” Basira replies. She honestly doesn't care where this coincidence-based mess came from, even if her patron is itching to know. She wants the ordeal to be over, and soon. They were tracked here, after all.

Wait. They were tracked here. 

Without thinking, Basira goes for her gun, and Daisy, so attuned to the motion, swings round the shotgun she’s been keeping on her back. Immediately she finds herself staring down the barrel of Tim’s weapon.

“What are you doing?”

“Jonny, we were tracked here. I can, you know, _see_ it,” she explains, calm in the face of the metal barrel. “They’re looking for a fight.”

Raphaella steps away from the panel where she was peering into some sort of microscope at Daisy’s hair. “Tim, put the gun down. These ones can die. Like the normal, mortal way.” 

Jonny stares at her in disbelief. “But they’re not normal mortals! That one’s got Brian’s weird prophecy shit! And this one’s like me!” He insists, baring his slightly sharpened teeth to prove his point. In the moment, they do seem like one and the same. Untamed beasts of the raging unquiet, chasing some thrill in their gruesome work. Basira can see it, clear as day. 

She can also see that her patron has touched one of the members here. The red-haired woman sits quietly at the back, observing only, and the Watcher screams _Archivist_ at Barisa, helpfully pointing out the ally. From Brian, the man Jonny was referring to, she gets nothing. He must not understand the allegiances of his own crew.

“Basira can die if shot,” Daisy elaborates, pushing the gun out of her face. She looks so protective, it’s enough to distract Basira with a fickle flutter in her heart. “It’d take quite a few bullets to kill me.” 

A bang sounds at the hull of the ship. The ship itself seemed to say something in a quiet, Russian-adjacent language to one of the women in the crew. 

“Aurora says someone’s shooting though her hull,” the woman translates. 

“They’ll be here soon,” Basira adds, with certainty. 

Jonny jumps up on the table and takes one of Tim’s guns. He’s smiling, like this is the most fun he’s had all day. “Attention crew! Orders right now are to protect the lady that looks like Ashes, and have some fucking fun while doing it!” He turns to Daisy, bouncing with energy. “Come on, kid, you ready to let loose? Show us the monster you have in there?” 

To Basira’s surprise, Daisy looks okay with it. Like his egging her on actually feels supportive. “Hell yeah,” she responds, with less vigor, but still enthused. To her further surprise, Basira finds that she’s more than okay with this. The Hunt is Daisy’s natural state, as the Watching is her own. Surrounded by people and not monsters every day, she’s come to forget that. 

Ashes puts their arm on Basira’s shoulder and maneuvers them towards the pilot’s chair. She finds herself unceremoniously shoved under the flight panel of the ship. “Shoot from down here, alright? We’ll talk later.” They affectionately fix the scarf on Basira’s head, securing it further.

As Basira takes aim at the door, she notices a bottle of alcohol being pulled from a shelf. Ashes is rapidly setting something on fire. A makeshift incendiary device? Seems dangerous for such close quarters. 

She has no time to consider it, because from somewhere unknown, music begins to play, and the first shot has been fired.

The battle begins. 

> (To the tune of My Funny Valentine/Gunfight at the Dolorous Guard) 
> 
> _I’m Ashes and you’ve found my double,_
> 
> _Looking for me, looking for trouble_
> 
> _You’ve made a mistake._
> 
> _You gave in to base corruption,_
> 
> _Brought about your own destruction,_
> 
> _Draw your gun._
> 
> _The name is Tim, my gun is drawn,_
> 
> _And once you’re out, the slaughters’ on_
> 
> _I’ve done this before._
> 
> _Call yourself a true gunslinger,_
> 
> _See who has the quickest finger,_
> 
> _Draw your gun._
> 
> _I’m Jonny and this ship in mine_
> 
> _Upon your corpses I shall dine,_
> 
> _And you should fear me._
> 
> _By teeth of mine or of my friend’s_
> 
> _We’ll hunt you to your dreary ends,_
> 
> _Draw your gun._
> 
> _Tim’s draw is the fastest_
> 
> _His shots are clean and sure,_
> 
> _And the first row of officers_
> 
> _Lie bloodied on the flood_
> 
> _The soldier takes it’s weapon_
> 
> _It’s order’s given clear_
> 
> _With Rosy rage that all in range_
> 
> _Are hit with blood and fear_
> 
> _The huntress takes no firearm_
> 
> _For teeth and claw’s enough_
> 
> _The chase gives strength and beauty_
> 
> _A diamond in the rough._
> 
> _They take the final man down_
> 
> _And look him in the eyes_
> 
> _It’s by Basira’s hand that he might live_
> 
> _And Ashes that he dies._

“Wait!” Basira cries and interrupts the blow. The statement, the song, it had another verse she doesn’t like the sound of. “Don’t kill him.”

Ashes sullenly drops their makeshift bludgeon. “And why not?” 

“We need someone to tell the word about which one of us that bounty is for. I’m sick of being chased.” 

“What about all those guys you just helped kill, though?” Jonny adds, amused again. “Won’t that get you a nice, shiny bounty of your own?”

“Not unless this guy decided to say anything,” Daisy says, blood dripping from her chin. “And I don’t think he will.” 

The cornered officer gives plenty of thorough promises that he won’t mention it, that he’ll do anything they ask.”

One of the crew members, a man made mostly of brass, pouts to the side. “So much for noble authorities.” 

Ashes pats his arm gently. “There, there, Brian.” 

The Toy Soldier helpfully ties the poor officer up with a terrifying degree of practice. Daisy takes some time to wash the blood off and borrow one of Jonny’s less ripped shirts. She’s beautiful in it, has been beautiful all day, now that she’s back to being sure in her movements, without the constant second guessing. A realization hits Basira, right then. The Watcher cheers her on, delighted with the idea of what Basira truly wants. 

“So, what now, you guys aren’t going to go back to being cops, are you?” Ashes asks mildly, rolling some dice in their hand. 

Basira links her arm up with Daisy’s, and holster’s her gun. “I don’t think that was ever quite the right role for us.” 

She thinks of Melanie, and her neutral ground, hidden away bar and . She thinks of Jon and Martin, who gave up incredible power for peace among the stars. She thinks of the tales that have yet to be told, that the Watcher looks for, the watcher wants. The cold rush of power and knowledge filtering through her, offinging what needed to happen, what was right. 

It’s funny, in the expanse of the universe, what it means to be a monster.

“I think I have something else in mind,” Basira says, and leaves it at that.

* * *

The expanse of space is big enough that anything could happen twice. Maybe even a few times, if you throw in all of time to the mix. The person who said "There's no such thing as coincidences" has probably never understood the sheer scope of happenstance in the universe. They probably were a detective. 

Basira Hussain is a detective, but not like that one. The year is a long, long time away from today, and then some. She lives in London, but not the one you are thinking of. This London is her kingdom, and it’s hers to oversee. A massive, strong-standing, just old and crowded enough ship that serves as the feeding ground for those who Hunt and Watch and chase and stare. She’s got the gun and the girl, and the universe is hers to investigate. Who is she to mind if Daisy and herself fit in with the monsters?

It's not half bad, once you get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I really hope you liked this entry for the exchange! I picked this prompt specifically because I wanted to see more love and content for Basira, I think she deserves it.  
> I'm only a minor fan of the Mechanisms, so please let me know if this worked well!  
> Special thanks to Emi and Cormack for betaing.  
> Happy Valentine's day <3


End file.
